Posts
Tessa Afshar. Harvest of Rubies. Chicago: River North, 2012. See here to buy the book.
Harvest of Rubies is about a Jewish scribe in Persia named
Sarah. Sarah is the cousin of Nehemiah, the cupbearer to the king, who
is in the biblical Book of Nehemiah. Harvest the Rubies is
about Sarah’s struggle with her insecurity, her desire to be loved by
her cold (yet compassionate and just) husband Darius after she had made a
huge social faux pas at their wedding, and the palace mysteries that
she tries to solve.
The book was slow in places, but it presents endearing and human
characters. I think of Sarah’s father, who was distant from his
daughter, but who had a story of his own—-about his late wife, who loved
him, notwithstanding his flaws. Sarah’s prayers in delicate social
situations, and her quest to find inner peace, also resonated with me.
I admire Tessa Afshar for putting some historical research into her
book. In an epilogue, she credits the professor whose input she
received, comments on the historical plausibility of whether a woman
could have been a scribe in the ancient world, and discusses the role of
the historian Herodotus in her research.
Moody Press sent me a complimentary review copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
A Bunch of Ramblings on Jubilees and Last Week's The Middle
This will be a rambling post that talks about the pseudepigraphical Book of Jubilees and last Wednesday’s episode of The Middle.
I’ve been reading the Book of Jubilees for my daily quiet time. The Book of Jubilees dates to the second century B.C.E., and it may have been intended to be an interpretation of the Pentateuch of the Bible, or an alternative to it.
I have not finished the Book of Jubilees, so my thoughts about it are not complete; I do not plan to keep on editing and re-editing this post in light of new information that I encounter there, so please keep that in mind. In my reading so far, Jubilees is a mix. It is rather xenophobic, and, when it depicts Israel’s calling as a priesthood, it does not seem to say (at least not in what I have read thus far) that Israel’s priesthood is intended to bless the nations; rather, Israel’s priesthood is about Israel worshiping God. (UPDATE: Actually, there are parts of Jubilees about God's people blessing the nations, or the nations blessing themselves through God's people. But there is also xenophobia.) Think of it this way: the biblical prophets, particularly First Isaiah, talk about a remnant. God cleanses the land of sinners and builds Israel on the righteous few who are left; heck, the Noah story is a remnant story about the entire world. Well, my impression in reading Jubilees is that it believes that Israel is like a remnant: God has given up on the world, but God still has worshipers in Israel. Israel, in a sense, is a remnant of humanity. At the same time, I should mention that there are passages in Jubilees about Israel ruling the nations, a scenario in which the nations at least survive.
Its xenophobia notwithstanding, Jubilees does have profound passages about love. Jacob, for example, is one who tries to do good to all, and to think of good for all. He does not want to hate anyone. This is particularly evident after Jacob returns to the Promised Land after his horrible time with his Uncle Laban. Jacob’s mother Rebecca (who is still alive) encourages Jacob to patch things up with his brother Esau, because she does not want her sons to be fighting each other after she and Isaac die. Esau, even though Jubilees portrays him as depraved and a bit callous towards his parents (yet outwardly polite), does try to be a good sport: when Isaac is divvying up his inheritance of land and a tower to distribute to his sons, Esau reminds Isaac that, although Esau is the firstborn, Jacob is entitled to the lion’s share of the inheritance, for Esau years before gave up his birthright to Jacob in exchange for a mess of pottage. But Esau’s sons later threaten and persuade their father to challenge Jacob in battle. Jacob takes steps to defend himself, but he is merciful to Esau’s sons.
I enjoyed these parts of the book. I’ve long wondered what exactly it meant, practically-speaking, for Jacob to receive Esau’s birthright. Jubilees offered an explanation. Also, I was glad that Jacob got to see his mother before she died. You don’t see that in the Book of Genesis, at least not explicitly. I’ve heard sermons and lectures that say that Jacob, after fleeing the Promised Land to go to Aram, never got to see his mother again, his mother who loved him and favored him over Esau. That was sad to me. Jacob was a quiet man, one his mother loved, and he never got to see his mother again? Well, Jubilees says that he did! The Book of Genesis says that, at some point, Rebecca’s nurse Deborah was with Jacob’s community (Genesis 35:8), so who is to say that Jacob did not get to see his mother before she died, even for the one who wrote parts of Genesis?
Jacob also comes to love his wife Leah. In the Book of Genesis, Jacob loves Rachel better, and he cannot really move on after Rachel has died. He loves Rachel’s sons more than Leah’s sons. In Jubilees, Jacob still prefers Rachel, yet he is saddened after Leah dies. He appreciated Leah as a gentle, good woman. Jubilees 36:24 says that he “lamented greatly for her because he loved her with all his heart and all his soul” O.S. Wintermute’s translation).
Jubilees more than once mentions sins that God will not forgive. God will not forgive an Israelite who sleeps with his father’s wife or concubine (33:13), but that person is to be stoned. Jubilees 30:10 says that an Israelite who lets his daughter be defiled by a Gentile will not receive forgiveness or remission. I should also note that the pseudepigraphical Book of I Enoch presents beings who cannot receive forgiveness, even if they seek it—-the fallen angels.
I wonder if anyone has tied any of this to Jesus’ statements in the synoptic Gospels that those who blaspheme the Holy Spirit will not receive forgiveness, in this age or the age to come (Matthew 12:31; Mark 3:29; Luke 12:10). A lot of times, I have read people attempt to explain those passages from a pastoral perspective: they want to reassure troubled souls that they did not actually blaspheme the Holy Spirit and thus have nothing to worry about. Sometimes, they are addressing silly questions, like “I stubbed my toe and cursed—-did I blaspheme the Holy Spirit?” But, take that pastoral motivation out of the equation, study the Gospel passages in light of Second Temple Judaism, and what do you find? What can you conclude? We see in Jubilees and in I Enoch the idea of unforgivable sins. I can somewhat sympathize with atheist scholar Robert Price’s statement (which I heard in one of his Genesis lectures, I think) that an atheist can approach the Bible more objectively than many believers can—-he can see what the Bible says, rather than trying to soften it from a pastoral perspective, or seeking to explain away parts to make it look inerrant. I still consider myself a believer. When it comes to the blasphemy of the Holy Spirit, I keep in mind Hebrew Bible passages in which God threatens things, but does not carry out his threats (see my post here). I am not for tempting God, but I don’t view any of God’s threats as an absolute—-with no ifs, ands, or buts.
Back to Jubilees, though. I was reading Jubilees’ rendition of the story of Judah and Tamar in Genesis 38. Judah has a daughter-in-law named Tamar, and God keeps killing her husbands because they are wicked. Judah is afraid to give Tamar his next son in line! Tamar, therefore, dresses up as a prostitute, and Judah sleeps with her, not knowing who she is. Judah gives her collateral. When he later finds out that Tamar played the harlot, he says that she must be burned! Tamar shows him his collateral, and Judah realizes that he slept with her. Judah then acknowledges that she is more righteous than him.
Jubilees’ telling of the story was similar to Genesis 38, overall. But Jubilees stresses that Judah received forgiveness from God because he repented. This was actually pretty noteworthy to me—-you have an Israelite sinning and receiving forgiveness, which differs from the overall tone of Jubilees. Jubilees does have some notion of atonement—-it even says that Yom Kippur is about God forgiving Israel for what her ancestors did to Joseph (Jubilees 34:18-19), in selling him and making their father believe he was dead. But, overall, Jubilees is rather punitive and perfectionist: it mentions sins that cannot be forgiven, and it calls the Hebrew protagonists perfect. For some reason, it presents Abraham passing tests that some may think he did not pass: Abraham passed the test when his wife was in Egypt and he lied to the Egyptians by saying she was his sister; usually, pastors say that Abraham was sinning at that point. Not Jubilees, though!
I was thinking that Jubilees 38 was a refreshing exception, an indication that Jubilees believed in forgiveness. Then Jubilees went all punitive. Jubilees 41 goes on to say that, even though Judah was forgiven by God, those who commit those kinds of defiling sins must be burned in the fire! Jubilees then goes on to praise Judah for ordering his daughter to be burned for prostitution. That actually pleased God, according to Jubilees!
The thing is, I look at that story, and Judah does not come out looking all that good, except when he repents and admits Tamar was more righteous than he was. Judah prior to that point was a hypocrite—-he slept with a prostitute, then ordered his daughter to be burned for prostitution. His motto should be “Do as I say, not as I do.” Even in Jubilees, he was married to a Canaanite woman, but he did not want his sons to marry Canaanite women.
That brings me to last Wednesday’s episode of The Middle. Frankie is going on a field trip with her socially-inept son, Brick. She wants for one of the boys on the bus to sit by Brick rather than his two friends so that Brick can make a friend. Frankie tries to persuade the boy’s mother to have him sit next to Brick, since the boy was crowding the seat, but the boy’s mother said that was not a problem. Later, Frankie yells at the boy’s mother. Brick’s therapist comes to Frankie while she is sitting alone and has a talk with her. Frankie recalls a time when she did the same thing that she was yelling at that boy’s mom for doing: after a high school ball game, she was about to drive her cooler son Axl and his friends, and another mother said one of the boys can ride with her and her son, for there was room. Frankie replied, “Oh, we’re fine!”, then walked on. Frankie is mortified when she remembers this—-she exclaims, “I was one of those “Oh, we’re fine” moms!” Brick’s therapist tells her, though, that everyone makes mistakes. Later in the episode, the boy’s mother tells her son to sit by Brick, and Frankie whispers to her, “Thank you.” As is often the case in The Middle, we think we are going to end on a warm and fuzzy note, then some humor undercuts that: Brick didn’t want to sit by the boy and left quickly so there would be no awkward silences, then patted himself on the back for his social intelligence!
In any case, Frankie was like Judah after he repented: she realized she had made mistakes, was sorry for them, and tried to be better.
I’ve been reading the Book of Jubilees for my daily quiet time. The Book of Jubilees dates to the second century B.C.E., and it may have been intended to be an interpretation of the Pentateuch of the Bible, or an alternative to it.
I have not finished the Book of Jubilees, so my thoughts about it are not complete; I do not plan to keep on editing and re-editing this post in light of new information that I encounter there, so please keep that in mind. In my reading so far, Jubilees is a mix. It is rather xenophobic, and, when it depicts Israel’s calling as a priesthood, it does not seem to say (at least not in what I have read thus far) that Israel’s priesthood is intended to bless the nations; rather, Israel’s priesthood is about Israel worshiping God. (UPDATE: Actually, there are parts of Jubilees about God's people blessing the nations, or the nations blessing themselves through God's people. But there is also xenophobia.) Think of it this way: the biblical prophets, particularly First Isaiah, talk about a remnant. God cleanses the land of sinners and builds Israel on the righteous few who are left; heck, the Noah story is a remnant story about the entire world. Well, my impression in reading Jubilees is that it believes that Israel is like a remnant: God has given up on the world, but God still has worshipers in Israel. Israel, in a sense, is a remnant of humanity. At the same time, I should mention that there are passages in Jubilees about Israel ruling the nations, a scenario in which the nations at least survive.
Its xenophobia notwithstanding, Jubilees does have profound passages about love. Jacob, for example, is one who tries to do good to all, and to think of good for all. He does not want to hate anyone. This is particularly evident after Jacob returns to the Promised Land after his horrible time with his Uncle Laban. Jacob’s mother Rebecca (who is still alive) encourages Jacob to patch things up with his brother Esau, because she does not want her sons to be fighting each other after she and Isaac die. Esau, even though Jubilees portrays him as depraved and a bit callous towards his parents (yet outwardly polite), does try to be a good sport: when Isaac is divvying up his inheritance of land and a tower to distribute to his sons, Esau reminds Isaac that, although Esau is the firstborn, Jacob is entitled to the lion’s share of the inheritance, for Esau years before gave up his birthright to Jacob in exchange for a mess of pottage. But Esau’s sons later threaten and persuade their father to challenge Jacob in battle. Jacob takes steps to defend himself, but he is merciful to Esau’s sons.
I enjoyed these parts of the book. I’ve long wondered what exactly it meant, practically-speaking, for Jacob to receive Esau’s birthright. Jubilees offered an explanation. Also, I was glad that Jacob got to see his mother before she died. You don’t see that in the Book of Genesis, at least not explicitly. I’ve heard sermons and lectures that say that Jacob, after fleeing the Promised Land to go to Aram, never got to see his mother again, his mother who loved him and favored him over Esau. That was sad to me. Jacob was a quiet man, one his mother loved, and he never got to see his mother again? Well, Jubilees says that he did! The Book of Genesis says that, at some point, Rebecca’s nurse Deborah was with Jacob’s community (Genesis 35:8), so who is to say that Jacob did not get to see his mother before she died, even for the one who wrote parts of Genesis?
Jacob also comes to love his wife Leah. In the Book of Genesis, Jacob loves Rachel better, and he cannot really move on after Rachel has died. He loves Rachel’s sons more than Leah’s sons. In Jubilees, Jacob still prefers Rachel, yet he is saddened after Leah dies. He appreciated Leah as a gentle, good woman. Jubilees 36:24 says that he “lamented greatly for her because he loved her with all his heart and all his soul” O.S. Wintermute’s translation).
Jubilees more than once mentions sins that God will not forgive. God will not forgive an Israelite who sleeps with his father’s wife or concubine (33:13), but that person is to be stoned. Jubilees 30:10 says that an Israelite who lets his daughter be defiled by a Gentile will not receive forgiveness or remission. I should also note that the pseudepigraphical Book of I Enoch presents beings who cannot receive forgiveness, even if they seek it—-the fallen angels.
I wonder if anyone has tied any of this to Jesus’ statements in the synoptic Gospels that those who blaspheme the Holy Spirit will not receive forgiveness, in this age or the age to come (Matthew 12:31; Mark 3:29; Luke 12:10). A lot of times, I have read people attempt to explain those passages from a pastoral perspective: they want to reassure troubled souls that they did not actually blaspheme the Holy Spirit and thus have nothing to worry about. Sometimes, they are addressing silly questions, like “I stubbed my toe and cursed—-did I blaspheme the Holy Spirit?” But, take that pastoral motivation out of the equation, study the Gospel passages in light of Second Temple Judaism, and what do you find? What can you conclude? We see in Jubilees and in I Enoch the idea of unforgivable sins. I can somewhat sympathize with atheist scholar Robert Price’s statement (which I heard in one of his Genesis lectures, I think) that an atheist can approach the Bible more objectively than many believers can—-he can see what the Bible says, rather than trying to soften it from a pastoral perspective, or seeking to explain away parts to make it look inerrant. I still consider myself a believer. When it comes to the blasphemy of the Holy Spirit, I keep in mind Hebrew Bible passages in which God threatens things, but does not carry out his threats (see my post here). I am not for tempting God, but I don’t view any of God’s threats as an absolute—-with no ifs, ands, or buts.
Back to Jubilees, though. I was reading Jubilees’ rendition of the story of Judah and Tamar in Genesis 38. Judah has a daughter-in-law named Tamar, and God keeps killing her husbands because they are wicked. Judah is afraid to give Tamar his next son in line! Tamar, therefore, dresses up as a prostitute, and Judah sleeps with her, not knowing who she is. Judah gives her collateral. When he later finds out that Tamar played the harlot, he says that she must be burned! Tamar shows him his collateral, and Judah realizes that he slept with her. Judah then acknowledges that she is more righteous than him.
Jubilees’ telling of the story was similar to Genesis 38, overall. But Jubilees stresses that Judah received forgiveness from God because he repented. This was actually pretty noteworthy to me—-you have an Israelite sinning and receiving forgiveness, which differs from the overall tone of Jubilees. Jubilees does have some notion of atonement—-it even says that Yom Kippur is about God forgiving Israel for what her ancestors did to Joseph (Jubilees 34:18-19), in selling him and making their father believe he was dead. But, overall, Jubilees is rather punitive and perfectionist: it mentions sins that cannot be forgiven, and it calls the Hebrew protagonists perfect. For some reason, it presents Abraham passing tests that some may think he did not pass: Abraham passed the test when his wife was in Egypt and he lied to the Egyptians by saying she was his sister; usually, pastors say that Abraham was sinning at that point. Not Jubilees, though!
I was thinking that Jubilees 38 was a refreshing exception, an indication that Jubilees believed in forgiveness. Then Jubilees went all punitive. Jubilees 41 goes on to say that, even though Judah was forgiven by God, those who commit those kinds of defiling sins must be burned in the fire! Jubilees then goes on to praise Judah for ordering his daughter to be burned for prostitution. That actually pleased God, according to Jubilees!
The thing is, I look at that story, and Judah does not come out looking all that good, except when he repents and admits Tamar was more righteous than he was. Judah prior to that point was a hypocrite—-he slept with a prostitute, then ordered his daughter to be burned for prostitution. His motto should be “Do as I say, not as I do.” Even in Jubilees, he was married to a Canaanite woman, but he did not want his sons to marry Canaanite women.
That brings me to last Wednesday’s episode of The Middle. Frankie is going on a field trip with her socially-inept son, Brick. She wants for one of the boys on the bus to sit by Brick rather than his two friends so that Brick can make a friend. Frankie tries to persuade the boy’s mother to have him sit next to Brick, since the boy was crowding the seat, but the boy’s mother said that was not a problem. Later, Frankie yells at the boy’s mother. Brick’s therapist comes to Frankie while she is sitting alone and has a talk with her. Frankie recalls a time when she did the same thing that she was yelling at that boy’s mom for doing: after a high school ball game, she was about to drive her cooler son Axl and his friends, and another mother said one of the boys can ride with her and her son, for there was room. Frankie replied, “Oh, we’re fine!”, then walked on. Frankie is mortified when she remembers this—-she exclaims, “I was one of those “Oh, we’re fine” moms!” Brick’s therapist tells her, though, that everyone makes mistakes. Later in the episode, the boy’s mother tells her son to sit by Brick, and Frankie whispers to her, “Thank you.” As is often the case in The Middle, we think we are going to end on a warm and fuzzy note, then some humor undercuts that: Brick didn’t want to sit by the boy and left quickly so there would be no awkward silences, then patted himself on the back for his social intelligence!
In any case, Frankie was like Judah after he repented: she realized she had made mistakes, was sorry for them, and tried to be better.
Monday, April 6, 2015
Book Write-Up: The Mission of Preaching
Patrick W.T. Johnson. The Mission of Preaching: Equipping the Community for Faithful Witness. Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2015. See here to buy the book.
Patrick W.T. Johnson is a Presbyterian pastor who teaches at Princeton Theological Seminary. The back cover of The Mission of Preaching asks a question: “If the church in the West now lives in a post-Christian context, how should preaching look different?” The book tries to explore what Christian preaching should look like in a Western world where many people are spiritual but not religious, and where postmodernism questions the existence of objective truth.
Johnson interacts with a variety of writers and thinkers. One thinker believes that people giving testimonies should replace the traditional model of one trained pastor giving a sermon every week. Another proposes that pastors meet regularly with a preaching group so that their sermon preparation is more of a communal exercise. Then there is Karl Barth, who emphasizes that preaching should be about confessing Christ to the world, and encouraging people to serve the world, with which Christ has already been reconciled.
What does any of this have to do with a post-Christian context or postmodernism? Well, Johnson is interacting with these things, sometimes favorably, and sometimes not so favorably. Some postmodernists would be against one pastor hogging the show and would tend to prefer people telling their stories over one person dogmatically proclaiming the “truth” that everyone should supposedly accept; perhaps they would also focus more on serving others rather than trying to get one’s doctrine right. Johnson appears to be open to some of this, in that he is for pastors working in community and allowing people who feel called to give testimonies. He is not for dispensing with pastors, however, plus he favors Christian communities sticking with a traditional confession of Christian faith.
I would say that, for Johnson, Christians can respond to postmodernism and post-Christianity by modeling a loving Christian community, and by focusing on how the Word of God calls people to mission, inviting those who want to go deeper to do so. I would also say that Johnson wants to acknowledge that there is a lot of subjectivity and preferences out there, and yet he desires to hold on to some truth—-Christ and the importance of mission—-rather than allowing preaching to become a consumerist exercise of entertaining people and making their needs the primary focus of attention.
The book could have provided more specifics. What are examples of the mission in which Christians are supposed to participate? There was a lot in the book about the importance of mission, and how mission should be about Christ and not just random acts of kindness, but I wondered what mission was supposed to look like, for Johnson.
Still, the book did have a lot of excellent discussions. Johnson mentions the point that pastors can preach more effectively if they know people in their congregations and the context of the congregation. I have found that to be true for me, though I wonder how a megachurch would follow that advice. Perhaps it could do so by having the pastor meet with small group leaders, and through reflection about how the church is relating to the needs of the community.
Johnson talks about how a pastor who doubts the faith can still preach the faith: essentially, the pastor can do so by viewing himself as part of a larger whole, as one preaching the creed of a historical community. I appreciated Johnson addressing this question, and I myself, in preaching sermons and wrestling with doubt, have sometimes felt carried by my sermon, like I am part of something larger than myself, preaching to myself as well as the community.
Johnson also discusses the issue of Sabbath, which he seems to regard as Sunday, and how observing Sunday can alienate Christians from certain activities, and yet can provide them with opportunities to testify to others about their faith. I grew up and spend part of my adult life observing the Saturday Sabbath, and that alienated me a bit in a Protestant small town that observed Sunday and scheduled activities on Saturday. It was interesting to read about Sundaykeepers who wrestled with similar problems.
If you are looking for a how-to manual on preaching or an apologetic attempt to refute postmodernism, this book may disappoint you. But the book does have interesting thoughts.
Intervarsity Press sent me a complimentary review copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Patrick W.T. Johnson is a Presbyterian pastor who teaches at Princeton Theological Seminary. The back cover of The Mission of Preaching asks a question: “If the church in the West now lives in a post-Christian context, how should preaching look different?” The book tries to explore what Christian preaching should look like in a Western world where many people are spiritual but not religious, and where postmodernism questions the existence of objective truth.
Johnson interacts with a variety of writers and thinkers. One thinker believes that people giving testimonies should replace the traditional model of one trained pastor giving a sermon every week. Another proposes that pastors meet regularly with a preaching group so that their sermon preparation is more of a communal exercise. Then there is Karl Barth, who emphasizes that preaching should be about confessing Christ to the world, and encouraging people to serve the world, with which Christ has already been reconciled.
What does any of this have to do with a post-Christian context or postmodernism? Well, Johnson is interacting with these things, sometimes favorably, and sometimes not so favorably. Some postmodernists would be against one pastor hogging the show and would tend to prefer people telling their stories over one person dogmatically proclaiming the “truth” that everyone should supposedly accept; perhaps they would also focus more on serving others rather than trying to get one’s doctrine right. Johnson appears to be open to some of this, in that he is for pastors working in community and allowing people who feel called to give testimonies. He is not for dispensing with pastors, however, plus he favors Christian communities sticking with a traditional confession of Christian faith.
I would say that, for Johnson, Christians can respond to postmodernism and post-Christianity by modeling a loving Christian community, and by focusing on how the Word of God calls people to mission, inviting those who want to go deeper to do so. I would also say that Johnson wants to acknowledge that there is a lot of subjectivity and preferences out there, and yet he desires to hold on to some truth—-Christ and the importance of mission—-rather than allowing preaching to become a consumerist exercise of entertaining people and making their needs the primary focus of attention.
The book could have provided more specifics. What are examples of the mission in which Christians are supposed to participate? There was a lot in the book about the importance of mission, and how mission should be about Christ and not just random acts of kindness, but I wondered what mission was supposed to look like, for Johnson.
Still, the book did have a lot of excellent discussions. Johnson mentions the point that pastors can preach more effectively if they know people in their congregations and the context of the congregation. I have found that to be true for me, though I wonder how a megachurch would follow that advice. Perhaps it could do so by having the pastor meet with small group leaders, and through reflection about how the church is relating to the needs of the community.
Johnson talks about how a pastor who doubts the faith can still preach the faith: essentially, the pastor can do so by viewing himself as part of a larger whole, as one preaching the creed of a historical community. I appreciated Johnson addressing this question, and I myself, in preaching sermons and wrestling with doubt, have sometimes felt carried by my sermon, like I am part of something larger than myself, preaching to myself as well as the community.
Johnson also discusses the issue of Sabbath, which he seems to regard as Sunday, and how observing Sunday can alienate Christians from certain activities, and yet can provide them with opportunities to testify to others about their faith. I grew up and spend part of my adult life observing the Saturday Sabbath, and that alienated me a bit in a Protestant small town that observed Sunday and scheduled activities on Saturday. It was interesting to read about Sundaykeepers who wrestled with similar problems.
If you are looking for a how-to manual on preaching or an apologetic attempt to refute postmodernism, this book may disappoint you. But the book does have interesting thoughts.
Intervarsity Press sent me a complimentary review copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
2015 Easter Ramblings
For Easter Sunday, I went to church this morning. Actually, I go to
church every Sunday, but there were more people at church this morning
because it is Easter.
My pastor preached about the folded napkin, or burial cloth, that was in Jesus’ empty tomb, according to John 20:7. I was expecting my pastor to go in a certain direction with that point, but he did not. I’ve heard some pastors make a big deal about the napkin being folded, and they refer to an alleged ancient Near Eastern custom that a person folding a napkin at dinner indicated that he was not finished yet; similarly, their reasoning went, Jesus is not done yet, for Jesus will come back.
I remember years ago visiting another church where the preacher on Easter Sunday was making that particular napkin point, and then I came home from church and visited my Christian dating site, and someone there was continually ridiculing it; someone had posted that napkin point. I was somewhat hoping that my pastor would not make that napkin point this morning, since I had already boxed up and sealed for packing my Intervarsity Press Bible Background Commentary for the New Testament, and thus I was limited in my ability to fact-check; I suppose that I could use google, though.
In any case, I was making other associations in my mind with John 20:7’s reference to the folded napkin. Years ago, I read a Nicholas Spark’s book, A Bend in the Road. In this novel, a widowed sheriff was dating an attractive schoolteacher, and he learns later that the schoolteacher’s shy brother was actually the one who killed his (the sheriff’s) wife and child in an automobile accident. Before the sheriff learns that, however, he remembers that a blanket was covering his wife and child at the scene of the accident. The person who caused the accident must not have been too horrible a person, the sheriff reasoned, for he had taken the time to cover up his victims.
How was I associating that with John 20:7? Because, in both, one could tell something about a person’s character by what that person left behind. Suppose that Jesus’ body had been stolen by robbers or people who wanted to abuse the body to gloat about Jesus’ death, or simply had been moved to another location. Would robbers or abusers take the time to fold the napkin? Would movers even leave the napkin? Jesus was leaving a personal indication of his resurrection in the empty tomb, a signature, if you will.
I am not really venturing into apologetics, here. The detail of the folded napkin may be literary—-the storyteller is simply narrating that Jesus personally left an indication of his resurrection for his disciples, who took a while to understand what was going on. Some may point to the detail of the folded napkin as an indication that we are dealing here with eyewitness testimony; people have debated, however, whether vividness or appeal to detail is an iron-clad sure indicator that an account or story reflects the testimony of eyewitnesses. I am just saying that, as someone hearing a story, and maybe even believing it, on some level, that detail of the story moves me.
A relative of mine one time appealed to the folded napkin in John 20:7 to encourage me to be neat. “What did Jesus do with his burial clothes when he was done with them? Just throw them to the side? No, he folded them and placed them down neatly.” I have a hard time feeling joy when I hear that, since it sounds to me like a rebuke or a put-down. But my relative’s point can be turned into something positive. Jesus did take care to fold his garment and lay it down neatly. That may have been to hint to his disciples that he was alive—-who else would take such care with his burial clothes? It could have also indicated that Jesus is one who is attentive to detail and who tries to bring order. Jesus, therefore, takes care of me and others, and I can have hope that he can bring some sense of order and peace to my life and emotions, and to the world.
At the Easter service this morning, I thought about another church meeting that I attended years ago. I worked at a nursing home and talked with one elderly woman about her church. I asked her about it because people from it often visited her, and the women visitors usually dressed very conservatively—-their hair was in a bun, and they wore a white blouse and a long black skirt. In any case, the elderly woman gave my name and address to one of the lady church members, and I got a card inviting me to a meeting that was being held in my hometown. I went a couple of times, and, in one of the messages, the woman speaking was sharing what she thought about when she was reading a Scriptural passage. I think the passage was “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). This lady was saying that she thought about people being sad after Jesus died, but they were happy when he was alive again.
That thought has long stayed with me, even if I did not think that it was particularly profound exegesis when I first heard it. A lot of times, on Easter (and I read some of my past Easter Sunday posts after church this morning), I wrestle with various issues: whether classic Christian apologetics make good arguments when they say there is evidence that Jesus rose; whether Jesus’ resurrection proves the truth of Christianity, and my vested interests in either answer; or how Jesus’ resurrection assures us that death has been conquered. But I think that it is good for my mind to go back to the personal dimension: a story about people unjustly losing a friend whom they loved, a friend in whom they hoped, and feeling happy when they encountered that friend, not as dead anymore, but as alive. They got to see their friend again.
My pastor preached about the folded napkin, or burial cloth, that was in Jesus’ empty tomb, according to John 20:7. I was expecting my pastor to go in a certain direction with that point, but he did not. I’ve heard some pastors make a big deal about the napkin being folded, and they refer to an alleged ancient Near Eastern custom that a person folding a napkin at dinner indicated that he was not finished yet; similarly, their reasoning went, Jesus is not done yet, for Jesus will come back.
I remember years ago visiting another church where the preacher on Easter Sunday was making that particular napkin point, and then I came home from church and visited my Christian dating site, and someone there was continually ridiculing it; someone had posted that napkin point. I was somewhat hoping that my pastor would not make that napkin point this morning, since I had already boxed up and sealed for packing my Intervarsity Press Bible Background Commentary for the New Testament, and thus I was limited in my ability to fact-check; I suppose that I could use google, though.
In any case, I was making other associations in my mind with John 20:7’s reference to the folded napkin. Years ago, I read a Nicholas Spark’s book, A Bend in the Road. In this novel, a widowed sheriff was dating an attractive schoolteacher, and he learns later that the schoolteacher’s shy brother was actually the one who killed his (the sheriff’s) wife and child in an automobile accident. Before the sheriff learns that, however, he remembers that a blanket was covering his wife and child at the scene of the accident. The person who caused the accident must not have been too horrible a person, the sheriff reasoned, for he had taken the time to cover up his victims.
How was I associating that with John 20:7? Because, in both, one could tell something about a person’s character by what that person left behind. Suppose that Jesus’ body had been stolen by robbers or people who wanted to abuse the body to gloat about Jesus’ death, or simply had been moved to another location. Would robbers or abusers take the time to fold the napkin? Would movers even leave the napkin? Jesus was leaving a personal indication of his resurrection in the empty tomb, a signature, if you will.
I am not really venturing into apologetics, here. The detail of the folded napkin may be literary—-the storyteller is simply narrating that Jesus personally left an indication of his resurrection for his disciples, who took a while to understand what was going on. Some may point to the detail of the folded napkin as an indication that we are dealing here with eyewitness testimony; people have debated, however, whether vividness or appeal to detail is an iron-clad sure indicator that an account or story reflects the testimony of eyewitnesses. I am just saying that, as someone hearing a story, and maybe even believing it, on some level, that detail of the story moves me.
A relative of mine one time appealed to the folded napkin in John 20:7 to encourage me to be neat. “What did Jesus do with his burial clothes when he was done with them? Just throw them to the side? No, he folded them and placed them down neatly.” I have a hard time feeling joy when I hear that, since it sounds to me like a rebuke or a put-down. But my relative’s point can be turned into something positive. Jesus did take care to fold his garment and lay it down neatly. That may have been to hint to his disciples that he was alive—-who else would take such care with his burial clothes? It could have also indicated that Jesus is one who is attentive to detail and who tries to bring order. Jesus, therefore, takes care of me and others, and I can have hope that he can bring some sense of order and peace to my life and emotions, and to the world.
At the Easter service this morning, I thought about another church meeting that I attended years ago. I worked at a nursing home and talked with one elderly woman about her church. I asked her about it because people from it often visited her, and the women visitors usually dressed very conservatively—-their hair was in a bun, and they wore a white blouse and a long black skirt. In any case, the elderly woman gave my name and address to one of the lady church members, and I got a card inviting me to a meeting that was being held in my hometown. I went a couple of times, and, in one of the messages, the woman speaking was sharing what she thought about when she was reading a Scriptural passage. I think the passage was “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). This lady was saying that she thought about people being sad after Jesus died, but they were happy when he was alive again.
That thought has long stayed with me, even if I did not think that it was particularly profound exegesis when I first heard it. A lot of times, on Easter (and I read some of my past Easter Sunday posts after church this morning), I wrestle with various issues: whether classic Christian apologetics make good arguments when they say there is evidence that Jesus rose; whether Jesus’ resurrection proves the truth of Christianity, and my vested interests in either answer; or how Jesus’ resurrection assures us that death has been conquered. But I think that it is good for my mind to go back to the personal dimension: a story about people unjustly losing a friend whom they loved, a friend in whom they hoped, and feeling happy when they encountered that friend, not as dead anymore, but as alive. They got to see their friend again.
Saturday, April 4, 2015
II Chronicles 27
II Chronicles 27 is about Jotham the king of Judah. Jotham was a righteous king.
Rashi’s comments on Jotham caught my eye (see here what Rashi says about verse 2). Rashi refers to something that Rabbi Simeon ben Yohai said that was told to him by Rabbi Eliezer ben Moses. (This discussion appears in Babylonian Talmud Sukkah 45b, albeit in a briefer and a different form.)
Essentially, according to Rashi, Rabbi Simeon was told that we do not find sin in Jotham, and so Jotham and “I” (I guess Rabbi Eliezer) can take upon themselves the sins of people from Abraham to Rabbi Eliezer’s time, and even to the end of the generations, the same way that Abraham took upon himself the sins from creation to his own time. What does this mean exactly? The text does not go into much detail, but it reminds me of what a number of Christians say about Jesus: that Jesus was a righteous man (God, even) and could thus make atonement for sinful humanity. Jesus bore blame that he did not deserve, so that sinners could be freed from blame that they do deserve.
Of course, rabbinic Judaism would not suggest that Abraham and Jotham were God. A number of Christians, perhaps drawing from Anselm, say that a significant reason that Jesus’ atonement was so efficacious was that Jesus was God, and thus was worth more than all human lives put together. How could one man, Jesus, atone for the sins of all of humanity? Because Jesus was more than a man, many Christians say: Jesus was God.
Rabbi Eliezer does not go so far in his portrayal of Abraham, Jotham, and himself. In his mind, Abraham did not have to be God to bear the sins of all of the people before him, and thereby to persuade God to spare sinful humanity. Abraham simply qualified for this role as an especially righteous human being, one who pleased God. Similarly, in the Book of IV Maccabees, the righteous martyrs die, and their martyrdom is depicted as an act that brings forgiveness to Israel (IV Maccabees 6:27-29; 17:17-22). These martyrs did not have to be God to atone for the sins of Israel, but they were righteous people. (On a related note, see this article, which explores substitutionary atonement in the Bible, Greek thought, and IV Maccabees).
Rabbi Eliezer appears a bit proud in suggesting that he could bear the sins of humanity after the time of Abraham. To be fair, however, he is not saying that he could do that all by himself. He is saying that, if he had to bear the sins of humanity, the person he would choose to do so with him would be Jotham. The reason is that II Chronicles 27 does not record any sin that Jotham committed, whereas the Bible does refer to the sins that other kings—-including righteous ones, like David—-did. For Rabbi Eliezer, apparently, that must mean that Jotham was sinless!
Was Jotham perfect, though? He did do good things. He added to the Temple in order to protect it. He was brave in war—-he challenged the Ammonites. I suppose whether or not that counts as “good” is in the eye of the beholder: Is it good to challenge and subordinate another nation? But perhaps the other nation would challenge and subordinate Judah if Judah did not act first. And yet, God told the Israelites in Deuteronomy 2:19 to leave the Ammonites alone. In any case, it does appear that the Chronicler approves of Jotham’s war policies, for II Chronicles 27:6 says that Jotham became mighty because he prepared his ways before God.
But was Jotham perfect? II Chronicles 27:2 says that the people of Judah continued to do corruptly under his reign. Was that Jotham’s fault, though, or could one simply say that the people of Judah were so corrupt that not even the righteous leadership and example of Jotham could inspire them to desist from sin and pursue righteousness? The Orthodox Jewish Artscroll commentary says that at least Jotham’s predecessor, Uzziah, sought to reach a higher spiritual level by entering a part of the Temple that he was not permitted to enter, whereas II Chronicles 27:2 makes the point that Jotham did not do that. Jotham, seeing that his father was stricken with leprosy, shied away from doing what his father did, and the Artscroll says that this was why Jotham failed to stem the tide of Judah’s corruption. That is an interesting interpretation, not that I would suggest that the Chronicler had any of that in mind. I doubt that the Artscroll is suggesting that Jotham should have tried to enter the area of the Temple that was forbidden to him. I think that what it is saying, though, is that Uzziah at least had a passion for spiritual advancement, whereas Jotham did not, even though Jotham may have done good and right things. Can one be an inspiring spiritual leader without spiritual passion and hunger?
II Kings 15:35 says that the high places were not taken away under Jotham. That, perhaps, was a blight on his record, and Rashi does not interact with that. Was Jotham in that case sinning, or simply failing to be a strong spiritual leader? Well, Deuteronomy 12:2-4 commands the Israelites to destroy the Canaanite high places and not to worship God in that fashion. Was Jotham sinning and disobeying God? Or did he just realistically conclude that he could not force the Judahites to abandon the high places, since they were popular?
Another question: How exactly would Jotham bear the sin of people after the time of Abraham? Did God cause him to suffer or die in place of those people, as Jesus did? Not as far as I can see in II Chronicles 27 and II Kings 15. But perhaps a few considerations should be kept in mind. For one, Rabbi Eliezer is presenting a hypothetical situation. He is not saying that Jotham actually did bear the sins of people, but that, if Rabbi Eliezer were to bear the sins of people, he would want Jotham bearing them with him. Second, bearing other people’s sins does not necessarily imply suffering or dying in their place. According to Leviticus 10:17, Aaronide priests bear the iniquity of Israel by eating the sin offering. They do not suffer and die in Israel’s place, but they still perform a priestly role of bearing iniquity and bringing atonement to Israel. (I attribute this point to R.N. Whybray’s book on Isaiah 53, Thanksgiving for a Liberated Prophet.)
Here is a question: Could a righteous person bear the iniquity of sinners by interceding for them before God, while being burdened about the sinners’ sins and wanting God to forgive them? I do not see that explicitly in the Bible, but how else would Abraham and Jotham bear people’s iniquity, in the mind of Rabbi Eliezer?
Rashi’s comments on Jotham caught my eye (see here what Rashi says about verse 2). Rashi refers to something that Rabbi Simeon ben Yohai said that was told to him by Rabbi Eliezer ben Moses. (This discussion appears in Babylonian Talmud Sukkah 45b, albeit in a briefer and a different form.)
Essentially, according to Rashi, Rabbi Simeon was told that we do not find sin in Jotham, and so Jotham and “I” (I guess Rabbi Eliezer) can take upon themselves the sins of people from Abraham to Rabbi Eliezer’s time, and even to the end of the generations, the same way that Abraham took upon himself the sins from creation to his own time. What does this mean exactly? The text does not go into much detail, but it reminds me of what a number of Christians say about Jesus: that Jesus was a righteous man (God, even) and could thus make atonement for sinful humanity. Jesus bore blame that he did not deserve, so that sinners could be freed from blame that they do deserve.
Of course, rabbinic Judaism would not suggest that Abraham and Jotham were God. A number of Christians, perhaps drawing from Anselm, say that a significant reason that Jesus’ atonement was so efficacious was that Jesus was God, and thus was worth more than all human lives put together. How could one man, Jesus, atone for the sins of all of humanity? Because Jesus was more than a man, many Christians say: Jesus was God.
Rabbi Eliezer does not go so far in his portrayal of Abraham, Jotham, and himself. In his mind, Abraham did not have to be God to bear the sins of all of the people before him, and thereby to persuade God to spare sinful humanity. Abraham simply qualified for this role as an especially righteous human being, one who pleased God. Similarly, in the Book of IV Maccabees, the righteous martyrs die, and their martyrdom is depicted as an act that brings forgiveness to Israel (IV Maccabees 6:27-29; 17:17-22). These martyrs did not have to be God to atone for the sins of Israel, but they were righteous people. (On a related note, see this article, which explores substitutionary atonement in the Bible, Greek thought, and IV Maccabees).
Rabbi Eliezer appears a bit proud in suggesting that he could bear the sins of humanity after the time of Abraham. To be fair, however, he is not saying that he could do that all by himself. He is saying that, if he had to bear the sins of humanity, the person he would choose to do so with him would be Jotham. The reason is that II Chronicles 27 does not record any sin that Jotham committed, whereas the Bible does refer to the sins that other kings—-including righteous ones, like David—-did. For Rabbi Eliezer, apparently, that must mean that Jotham was sinless!
Was Jotham perfect, though? He did do good things. He added to the Temple in order to protect it. He was brave in war—-he challenged the Ammonites. I suppose whether or not that counts as “good” is in the eye of the beholder: Is it good to challenge and subordinate another nation? But perhaps the other nation would challenge and subordinate Judah if Judah did not act first. And yet, God told the Israelites in Deuteronomy 2:19 to leave the Ammonites alone. In any case, it does appear that the Chronicler approves of Jotham’s war policies, for II Chronicles 27:6 says that Jotham became mighty because he prepared his ways before God.
But was Jotham perfect? II Chronicles 27:2 says that the people of Judah continued to do corruptly under his reign. Was that Jotham’s fault, though, or could one simply say that the people of Judah were so corrupt that not even the righteous leadership and example of Jotham could inspire them to desist from sin and pursue righteousness? The Orthodox Jewish Artscroll commentary says that at least Jotham’s predecessor, Uzziah, sought to reach a higher spiritual level by entering a part of the Temple that he was not permitted to enter, whereas II Chronicles 27:2 makes the point that Jotham did not do that. Jotham, seeing that his father was stricken with leprosy, shied away from doing what his father did, and the Artscroll says that this was why Jotham failed to stem the tide of Judah’s corruption. That is an interesting interpretation, not that I would suggest that the Chronicler had any of that in mind. I doubt that the Artscroll is suggesting that Jotham should have tried to enter the area of the Temple that was forbidden to him. I think that what it is saying, though, is that Uzziah at least had a passion for spiritual advancement, whereas Jotham did not, even though Jotham may have done good and right things. Can one be an inspiring spiritual leader without spiritual passion and hunger?
II Kings 15:35 says that the high places were not taken away under Jotham. That, perhaps, was a blight on his record, and Rashi does not interact with that. Was Jotham in that case sinning, or simply failing to be a strong spiritual leader? Well, Deuteronomy 12:2-4 commands the Israelites to destroy the Canaanite high places and not to worship God in that fashion. Was Jotham sinning and disobeying God? Or did he just realistically conclude that he could not force the Judahites to abandon the high places, since they were popular?
Another question: How exactly would Jotham bear the sin of people after the time of Abraham? Did God cause him to suffer or die in place of those people, as Jesus did? Not as far as I can see in II Chronicles 27 and II Kings 15. But perhaps a few considerations should be kept in mind. For one, Rabbi Eliezer is presenting a hypothetical situation. He is not saying that Jotham actually did bear the sins of people, but that, if Rabbi Eliezer were to bear the sins of people, he would want Jotham bearing them with him. Second, bearing other people’s sins does not necessarily imply suffering or dying in their place. According to Leviticus 10:17, Aaronide priests bear the iniquity of Israel by eating the sin offering. They do not suffer and die in Israel’s place, but they still perform a priestly role of bearing iniquity and bringing atonement to Israel. (I attribute this point to R.N. Whybray’s book on Isaiah 53, Thanksgiving for a Liberated Prophet.)
Here is a question: Could a righteous person bear the iniquity of sinners by interceding for them before God, while being burdened about the sinners’ sins and wanting God to forgive them? I do not see that explicitly in the Bible, but how else would Abraham and Jotham bear people’s iniquity, in the mind of Rabbi Eliezer?
Friday, April 3, 2015
Book Write-Up: The Lost World of Adam and Eve
John H. Walton (with a contribution by N.T. Wright). The Lost World of Adam and Eve: Genesis 2-3 and the Human Origins Debate. Downers Grove, IVP Academic, 2015. See here to buy the book.
In The Lost World of Adam and Eve, biblical scholar John Walton presents an intriguing interpretation of Genesis 1-3, one that does not contradict scientific conclusions about human origins and history.
In his scenario, God in Genesis 1 is fashioning the cosmos as a Temple for himself and a home for human beings. As Temple ceremonies often concluded with placing an image of the god in the Temple, so likewise does Genesis 1 conclude with God creating human beings in God’s image. The human beings are to be God’s vice-regents, contributing to order in the world.
At some later point, Walton argues, God set up the Garden of Eden as his sanctuary on earth. (Gardens could be places for the gods in the ancient world, Walton argues.) God appointed two human beings, Adam and Eve, to be his priests there, and somehow to contribute to the expansion of God’s sanctuary. According to Walton, Adam and Eve were not the only human beings existing at that time, nor were they the very first human beings, for God had created humanity earlier, in Genesis 1. Have you ever wondered whom Cain was afraid would kill him (Genesis 4:14), or where Cain got his wife (Genesis 4:17)? For Walton, there were other human beings in the world at that point besides Adam and Eve and their family. Walton addresses questions some of you may have, such as “Was not Eve called the mother of all living in Genesis 3:20?”, and “Why are there genealogies in the Bible that start with Adam, if Adam was not considered to be the very first man?” In addressing the first question, Walton refers to the statement in Genesis 4:20 that Jabal was the father of those who dwell in tents. Walton does not believe that the author was meaning that to be taken literally, and Walton also does not think that Eve in Genesis 3:20 was literally said to be the ancestress of all living. If that were the case, she would also be the mother of all animals, since they too are among “all living.”
Adam’s formation from dust in Genesis 2 is not a literal material creation of him de novo, Walton seems to be arguing, but rather is the formation of him for the role of priesthood. Walton refers to an Egyptian story that depicts the god’s formation of a king on a potter’s wheel as a possible parallel. The Egyptians probably recognized that the Egyptian king originated through birth, and yet an Egyptian story was depicting him being formed on a potter’s wheel by a god for a purpose, to convey that the god is forming a king. My impression is that Walton thinks something similar is going on in Genesis 2, but that God is forming a priestly representative of humans.
While Walton does not believe that Adam and Eve were the very first humans, he does hold that, according to Genesis 2-3, they, as priests, were archetypes and representatives of humanity. According to Walton, Adam being formed from the dust is simply an indication that he was mortal, as are all human beings. Walton refers to biblical passages in which human beings after the time of Adam are said to be made of dust, or created by God. Walton also refers to the story of Adapa as a possible ancient Near Eastern parallel of a human being for whom “by virtue of his priestly position, his actions have ramifications for all of humanity” (page 121).
For Walton, death existed prior to the Fall, which coincides with evolutionary scenarios that depict human beings and animals dying for thousands and thousands of years (long before Genesis’ genealogies depict Adam and Eve existing). Adam and Eve could live forever, however, by partaking of the Tree of Life, in relationship with God. The serpent, who is associated with many things in ancient Near Eastern literature, but one of whose associations is chaos, tempts Adam and Eve to seek to uphold order and wisdom apart from a relationship with God. Adam and Eve are then cut off from the source of life, and their sin has profound ramifications on the world, bringing greater disorder.
But, according to scientific accounts of human history, were not humans killing each other prior to the time that Genesis presents Adam and Eve existing? In addressing this question, Walton refers to Paul’s statement in Romans 5:13 that sin is not imputed when there is no law. Walton appears to question whether God held those humans long before the time of Adam responsible, since they may not have had light. Walton could have been clearer on this point, for Walton does argue that human beings prior to the time of Adam were made in God’s image and had a commission from God to bring order to the world. Is that not light? Or is Walton talking about proto-human beings when he is discussing those whom God did not hold responsible? I should also note that Paul in Romans 5 appears to be arguing that it was between the time of Adam and Moses that there was no law, not the time between proto-humans (or pre-Adamic humans) and Adam.
Walton raises other interesting considerations. For example, he contrasts Irenaeus’ view of Adam and Eve’s sin with the Augustinian view that became widespread. For Augustine, Adam and Eve passed down original sin to succeeding generations—-both the guilt of original sin and the propensity to sin. Irenaeus, according to Walton, had more of a “Pandora’s box” view of Adam and Eve’s sin: they sinned, and that released disorder into the world.
Walton’s view made more sense to me as I was writing this blog post than it did when I was reading his book. Walton admits that he is going against centuries of interpretations of Genesis 2, which hold that Adam and Eve were the first human pair. I can understand if many may see Walton’s interpretation as a stretch, or question whether it is the only viable way to interpret Genesis 2-3 in light of ancient Near Eastern literature (Walton himself does not make such a bold claim). Moreover, when I look at Genesis 2-3 and certain stories in ancient Near Eastern literature, I think that I am seeing etiologies of how the writers believe things came to be as they are—-how marriage originated, why women have painful childbirths, etc. Walton’s scenario seems to undercut that, though Walton does not appear to dismiss Genesis 2-3 as an etiology altogether: he still sees it as an explanation for chaos in the world. While I do not agree with everything that Walton argued in this book, I still think that Walton did well to highlight that there may be more to Genesis 2-3 than many might think.
I received a complimentary review copy of this book from Intervarsity Press, in exchange for an honest review.
In The Lost World of Adam and Eve, biblical scholar John Walton presents an intriguing interpretation of Genesis 1-3, one that does not contradict scientific conclusions about human origins and history.
In his scenario, God in Genesis 1 is fashioning the cosmos as a Temple for himself and a home for human beings. As Temple ceremonies often concluded with placing an image of the god in the Temple, so likewise does Genesis 1 conclude with God creating human beings in God’s image. The human beings are to be God’s vice-regents, contributing to order in the world.
At some later point, Walton argues, God set up the Garden of Eden as his sanctuary on earth. (Gardens could be places for the gods in the ancient world, Walton argues.) God appointed two human beings, Adam and Eve, to be his priests there, and somehow to contribute to the expansion of God’s sanctuary. According to Walton, Adam and Eve were not the only human beings existing at that time, nor were they the very first human beings, for God had created humanity earlier, in Genesis 1. Have you ever wondered whom Cain was afraid would kill him (Genesis 4:14), or where Cain got his wife (Genesis 4:17)? For Walton, there were other human beings in the world at that point besides Adam and Eve and their family. Walton addresses questions some of you may have, such as “Was not Eve called the mother of all living in Genesis 3:20?”, and “Why are there genealogies in the Bible that start with Adam, if Adam was not considered to be the very first man?” In addressing the first question, Walton refers to the statement in Genesis 4:20 that Jabal was the father of those who dwell in tents. Walton does not believe that the author was meaning that to be taken literally, and Walton also does not think that Eve in Genesis 3:20 was literally said to be the ancestress of all living. If that were the case, she would also be the mother of all animals, since they too are among “all living.”
Adam’s formation from dust in Genesis 2 is not a literal material creation of him de novo, Walton seems to be arguing, but rather is the formation of him for the role of priesthood. Walton refers to an Egyptian story that depicts the god’s formation of a king on a potter’s wheel as a possible parallel. The Egyptians probably recognized that the Egyptian king originated through birth, and yet an Egyptian story was depicting him being formed on a potter’s wheel by a god for a purpose, to convey that the god is forming a king. My impression is that Walton thinks something similar is going on in Genesis 2, but that God is forming a priestly representative of humans.
While Walton does not believe that Adam and Eve were the very first humans, he does hold that, according to Genesis 2-3, they, as priests, were archetypes and representatives of humanity. According to Walton, Adam being formed from the dust is simply an indication that he was mortal, as are all human beings. Walton refers to biblical passages in which human beings after the time of Adam are said to be made of dust, or created by God. Walton also refers to the story of Adapa as a possible ancient Near Eastern parallel of a human being for whom “by virtue of his priestly position, his actions have ramifications for all of humanity” (page 121).
For Walton, death existed prior to the Fall, which coincides with evolutionary scenarios that depict human beings and animals dying for thousands and thousands of years (long before Genesis’ genealogies depict Adam and Eve existing). Adam and Eve could live forever, however, by partaking of the Tree of Life, in relationship with God. The serpent, who is associated with many things in ancient Near Eastern literature, but one of whose associations is chaos, tempts Adam and Eve to seek to uphold order and wisdom apart from a relationship with God. Adam and Eve are then cut off from the source of life, and their sin has profound ramifications on the world, bringing greater disorder.
But, according to scientific accounts of human history, were not humans killing each other prior to the time that Genesis presents Adam and Eve existing? In addressing this question, Walton refers to Paul’s statement in Romans 5:13 that sin is not imputed when there is no law. Walton appears to question whether God held those humans long before the time of Adam responsible, since they may not have had light. Walton could have been clearer on this point, for Walton does argue that human beings prior to the time of Adam were made in God’s image and had a commission from God to bring order to the world. Is that not light? Or is Walton talking about proto-human beings when he is discussing those whom God did not hold responsible? I should also note that Paul in Romans 5 appears to be arguing that it was between the time of Adam and Moses that there was no law, not the time between proto-humans (or pre-Adamic humans) and Adam.
Walton raises other interesting considerations. For example, he contrasts Irenaeus’ view of Adam and Eve’s sin with the Augustinian view that became widespread. For Augustine, Adam and Eve passed down original sin to succeeding generations—-both the guilt of original sin and the propensity to sin. Irenaeus, according to Walton, had more of a “Pandora’s box” view of Adam and Eve’s sin: they sinned, and that released disorder into the world.
Walton’s view made more sense to me as I was writing this blog post than it did when I was reading his book. Walton admits that he is going against centuries of interpretations of Genesis 2, which hold that Adam and Eve were the first human pair. I can understand if many may see Walton’s interpretation as a stretch, or question whether it is the only viable way to interpret Genesis 2-3 in light of ancient Near Eastern literature (Walton himself does not make such a bold claim). Moreover, when I look at Genesis 2-3 and certain stories in ancient Near Eastern literature, I think that I am seeing etiologies of how the writers believe things came to be as they are—-how marriage originated, why women have painful childbirths, etc. Walton’s scenario seems to undercut that, though Walton does not appear to dismiss Genesis 2-3 as an etiology altogether: he still sees it as an explanation for chaos in the world. While I do not agree with everything that Walton argued in this book, I still think that Walton did well to highlight that there may be more to Genesis 2-3 than many might think.
I received a complimentary review copy of this book from Intervarsity Press, in exchange for an honest review.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
My First American Crime Write-Up
I’ve been watching the new ABC series, American Crime, which is on Thursday nights at 10 pm.
I want to write some of my reactions to the show, and I’ll use as my starting-point wikipedia’s succinct description:
“The show follows the aftermath of a murder in Modesto, California. War veteran Matt Skokie is killed during a home invasion in which his wife, Gwen, is brutally attacked. The series uses the crime and its subsequent journey through the legal system to explore complex issues, mainly through the lenses of the victims’ and suspect’s families.”
I’ll go through some (but not all) of the characters so that those who have not seen the show will know what I am talking about when I share my reactions. It is tedious, I know, but it is necessary background information.
Felicity Huffman (of Desperate Housewives) plays Barb Hanlon, who is Matt Skokie’s mother. Timothy Hutton plays Russ Skokie, who is Matt’s father, and who is divorced from Barb (and it was a bitter divorce). David Hoflin plays Mark Skokie, who is Matt’s little brother, and who is also in a branch of military service. On Gwen’s side of the family, Penelope Ann Miller plays Eve Carlin, Gwen’s mother. W. Earl Brown plays Tom Carlin, who is Gwen’s father. Lili Taylor (of Six Feet Under) plays Nancy Straumberg, who assists Barb as part of a victim’s advocacy group, and who herself lost a daughter to murder. They are all white.
The person accused of murder is an African-American named Carter Nix. His girlfriend is a young white woman named Aubry Taylor, who uses drugs, but who does love her boyfriend. Regina King plays Aliyah Shaheed, a convert to African-American Islam who does not care for her brother’s decisions, but who is marshaling resources from her community (i.e., an excellent lawyer) in order to support her brother.
We learn in the course of the first two episodes that Matt and Gwen were not picture-perfect as people thought. Matt was selling drugs, and he was selling drugs even before he went into the army after 9/11 to fight in Afghanistan; that was why his Mom got him to join the army. Gwen was sleeping around, and her father Tom is disappointed to learn that, calling her a slut.
The show explores racism. If Archie Bunker was the stereotypical angry white man, Barb is an angry white woman. She has prejudice against people of other races—-not really at the KKK level, but in the sense that she looks down on them and thinks that society gives them special privileges. She may have had those prejudices most of her life, but they were amplified after her husband left her and her kids due to his gambling addiction, and she had to raise her kids in the projects, where she says that her kids were bullied by some of the minorities there. Aliyah, the sister of the accused, is an African-American Muslim. She does not trust white society, hates her brother’s relationship with a white woman, and even mocks one of the prosecutor’s Jewish names. Barb and Aliyah are different in their ideology, but they are remarkably similar in certain respects: there is their prejudice and sense of disenfranchisement, but there is also their strength. They are confident, intelligent women who will not let anyone push them around, who do not hesitate to say what they think, and who fight to get what they want. In terms of differences, I would say that Barb is a lot more morose than Aliyah is—-and that’s not just because Barb has lost a son but because she is a rather bitter woman, in general. Barb is like Felicity Huffman’s Desperate Housewives character, Lynette, in terms of her strength and confidence, but Barb is a lot more morose than Lynette was. Aliyah, on the other hand, has found fulfillment and pride on her religious path. I like stories in which strong characters confront (yet hopefully come to understand) each other, so I am eager to see what the interactions between Barb and Aliyah will be like.
Mark, the brother of Matt, seems to me to be a peacemaker. He probably had to fulfill that role much of his life—-with his parents hating each other, and his brother dealing drugs. In one scene, Mark tries to encourage Tom (Gwen’s father) to be a responsible parent and to support his daughter, even though Tom thinks that Gwen is a slut. Mark shares some secrets about his own family that Tom does not know and urges Tom to be better than that. In a moving scene at the end of last Thursday’s episode, Tom and Eve are watching as their daughter Gwen comes out of her coma, and you can tell by the look on Tom’s face that he is ready to support his daughter, whatever mistakes she may have made.
Last Thursday’s episode was the best so far because it went into the backgrounds of various characters. There is Aliyah’s phenomenal, powerful speech about why she became a Muslim. There is also Nancy’s advice to Barb about how to dress at the trial, and Nancy’s tragic personal story about why that is so important. I get tears in my eyes as I think about last Thursday’s episode.
I want to write some of my reactions to the show, and I’ll use as my starting-point wikipedia’s succinct description:
“The show follows the aftermath of a murder in Modesto, California. War veteran Matt Skokie is killed during a home invasion in which his wife, Gwen, is brutally attacked. The series uses the crime and its subsequent journey through the legal system to explore complex issues, mainly through the lenses of the victims’ and suspect’s families.”
I’ll go through some (but not all) of the characters so that those who have not seen the show will know what I am talking about when I share my reactions. It is tedious, I know, but it is necessary background information.
Felicity Huffman (of Desperate Housewives) plays Barb Hanlon, who is Matt Skokie’s mother. Timothy Hutton plays Russ Skokie, who is Matt’s father, and who is divorced from Barb (and it was a bitter divorce). David Hoflin plays Mark Skokie, who is Matt’s little brother, and who is also in a branch of military service. On Gwen’s side of the family, Penelope Ann Miller plays Eve Carlin, Gwen’s mother. W. Earl Brown plays Tom Carlin, who is Gwen’s father. Lili Taylor (of Six Feet Under) plays Nancy Straumberg, who assists Barb as part of a victim’s advocacy group, and who herself lost a daughter to murder. They are all white.
The person accused of murder is an African-American named Carter Nix. His girlfriend is a young white woman named Aubry Taylor, who uses drugs, but who does love her boyfriend. Regina King plays Aliyah Shaheed, a convert to African-American Islam who does not care for her brother’s decisions, but who is marshaling resources from her community (i.e., an excellent lawyer) in order to support her brother.
We learn in the course of the first two episodes that Matt and Gwen were not picture-perfect as people thought. Matt was selling drugs, and he was selling drugs even before he went into the army after 9/11 to fight in Afghanistan; that was why his Mom got him to join the army. Gwen was sleeping around, and her father Tom is disappointed to learn that, calling her a slut.
The show explores racism. If Archie Bunker was the stereotypical angry white man, Barb is an angry white woman. She has prejudice against people of other races—-not really at the KKK level, but in the sense that she looks down on them and thinks that society gives them special privileges. She may have had those prejudices most of her life, but they were amplified after her husband left her and her kids due to his gambling addiction, and she had to raise her kids in the projects, where she says that her kids were bullied by some of the minorities there. Aliyah, the sister of the accused, is an African-American Muslim. She does not trust white society, hates her brother’s relationship with a white woman, and even mocks one of the prosecutor’s Jewish names. Barb and Aliyah are different in their ideology, but they are remarkably similar in certain respects: there is their prejudice and sense of disenfranchisement, but there is also their strength. They are confident, intelligent women who will not let anyone push them around, who do not hesitate to say what they think, and who fight to get what they want. In terms of differences, I would say that Barb is a lot more morose than Aliyah is—-and that’s not just because Barb has lost a son but because she is a rather bitter woman, in general. Barb is like Felicity Huffman’s Desperate Housewives character, Lynette, in terms of her strength and confidence, but Barb is a lot more morose than Lynette was. Aliyah, on the other hand, has found fulfillment and pride on her religious path. I like stories in which strong characters confront (yet hopefully come to understand) each other, so I am eager to see what the interactions between Barb and Aliyah will be like.
Mark, the brother of Matt, seems to me to be a peacemaker. He probably had to fulfill that role much of his life—-with his parents hating each other, and his brother dealing drugs. In one scene, Mark tries to encourage Tom (Gwen’s father) to be a responsible parent and to support his daughter, even though Tom thinks that Gwen is a slut. Mark shares some secrets about his own family that Tom does not know and urges Tom to be better than that. In a moving scene at the end of last Thursday’s episode, Tom and Eve are watching as their daughter Gwen comes out of her coma, and you can tell by the look on Tom’s face that he is ready to support his daughter, whatever mistakes she may have made.
Last Thursday’s episode was the best so far because it went into the backgrounds of various characters. There is Aliyah’s phenomenal, powerful speech about why she became a Muslim. There is also Nancy’s advice to Barb about how to dress at the trial, and Nancy’s tragic personal story about why that is so important. I get tears in my eyes as I think about last Thursday’s episode.
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